


Of Pratty Mouth and Knobbly Knees

by sweetiejelly



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetiejelly/pseuds/sweetiejelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin was able to more or less ignore his attraction to Arthur for most of the term. But then that one night happens and nothing is ever the same again.</p><p>Inspired by <i>They're so "married" to each other & just haven't realized it</i> and <i>making out</i> squares of my <a href="http://cottoncandy-bingo.dreamwidth.org/">cottoncandy_bingo</a> card.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Pratty Mouth and Knobbly Knees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frances_veritas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frances_veritas/gifts).



> Written belatedly for frances_veritas for her birthday. Happy, happy birthday, Moey! Sorry this is so late but hope it's okay. Have some modern AU smut and schmoop with poetry on top (and bottom). Love you and hope you had a truly wonderful birthday week! ♥
> 
> Cross-posted to [LJ](http://sweetiejelly.livejournal.com/180763.html).

_necks are necks_  
    _except yours arcs_  
    _in moonlight, looks like_  
    _the path I want to take_  
  _(and not just for_  
 _one) tonight_

 

Merlin tries to keep quiet, but Arthur is across the small space of the room they share. Arthur is awake. Arthur’s neck is turned a sharp angle so that Merlin can imagine him just so – biting down on his own shoulder, summoning control not to cry out. Arthur’s hands are wrapped low around himself. They have been for the last half hour.

Merlin tries to breathe slowly, shallowly, to feign sleep. But fuck, he has been watching the filthiest, most drawn-out, if blurry, shadow of a show and his body can’t take it any longer. He is as hard as he’s ever been and wet at the tip, wet _sliding down_ from the tip.

From this distance and even in pale moonlight, Merlin could tell that Arthur is a generous, giving kind. He takes his time. He plays. He licks. (Palms.) He sucks. (Fingers.) He rubs and tweaks. (Nipples.) He takes it slow even in the way he shudders, silent ripples. He walks his hands over ribs, abs and keeps going, down and then up, under and then in, stroke, _in_ , tug, _in_. Merlin tries not to imagine all that motion on his own skin. Merlin tries not to touch his own – 

_Oh_ , but there’s his hand dragging high over an inner thigh.

Merlin sighs with the tension of it, the anticipation. It’s been days since he’s last done this, under the spray of a shower. Uni residence halls are hardly like home, where Merlin at least has a lock on his door and no one to share his room. Here, these snatched moments are hardly enough, given that Merlin has to share his space with _Arthur_. And Arthur is – 

Gods, Arthur Pendragon had to be some sort of royalty or celebrity in his past life. His face is made for it. His body, definitely. Merlin brings a hand over his mouth and bites down on his palm. He’s close. So close. He squeezes his eyes shut and twists his hand over the head of his cock the way he likes, the way he’s just seen that Arthur likes, too. Merlin thinks about doing this with Arthur with two twists of wrists, with double the friction and double the slide. The thought sends him over and he muffles his moans, his cries, spreading them as thin as he could into his palm.

He eases his eyes open, slowly, by degrees. Across the room, Arthur is stock-still, under his blanket now, and staring at him. Merlin clamps his hand tighter over his mouth and blinks again.

This time when he checks, Arthur’s eyes are closed. He appears asleep.

*

“Merlin, wake up.”

Merlin turns to the wall, trying to slide back into his dream. Already though, it’s slipping away like the thinnest of fogs in a fast wind. And sod it, that voice above him is still going, louder now, in fact. "Merlin!"

“Go away, Arthur.”

“ _Mer_ lin!” Arthur shakes his shoulder, a warm shock of a touch that brings the events of last night into sharp focus. Merlin bites down on his bottom lip and keeps his eyes closed, trying to stamp down on the bubble of panic. But he needs not have bothered. Arthur either doesn’t remember anything or is choosing to ignore everything. The _prat_. “It’s almost nine. Don’t you have somewhere else to be? There is a bright pink neon Post-it on your desk that is screeching ‘wake Merlin up’ or maybe ‘poke your eyes out’. I don’t know. One of the two.”

“Oh shit! Oh shit!” A different kind of panic floods him. “Gaius is going to kill me! _Again_ ,” Merlin groans as he swings his legs out of bed and stands, rubbing at his eyes. The sudden movement brings his elbow in contact with Arthur’s chest. For a moment, they both freeze, locked in a stare that Merlin can’t quite read.

Then his eyes shift to his alarm clock and the moment passes. “Arthur, you prat! It’s only fifteen past eight. In what universe is that almost nine?”

Arthur frowns at Merlin’s clock as if it were in the wrong. “Oh. Well, I set my watch ahead half an hour so I’m never late.”

Merlin gapes at him. Almost a full term in and sometimes he still feels like he doesn’t know Arthur at all.

“It’s _still_ late. _Some_ people have been up for hours.”

Merlin splutters. It’s not fair. It’s not. Arthur’s being a right git and at the same time he’s…he’s _eye-fucking_ Merlin’s mouth.

“Close your mouth, Merlin,” Arthur turns abruptly away from him. “The drooling’s unattractive.”

“ _You’re_ unattractive.” Merlin knows he’s just sulking now but he can’t help it. Arthur is being especially _Arthur_ this morning. “Some people sleep later and wake later. It doesn’t make them lazy.”

Arthur doesn’t bother arguing this point with him. They have been over it many times before. “Put some trousers on, Merlin,” Arthur throws over his shoulder as he gathers up his books and papers. “Your knobbly knees are showing.”

Merlin glares at Arthur’s back, taking in the bend of it and how he could follow the stretch and pull of muscles down to the pert round of arse. He takes a deep breath and yanks his eyes away. “I’ll take knobbly knees over pratty mouths any day,” he says and heads for the showers before Arthur can correct him.

With that perfect pout of his.

*

For once, Merlin gets to work early. He’s in before even Gwen. Gaius looks pleasantly surprised, his eyebrows arching up high. “What magic is this, Merlin?”

“Arthur,” he says before his brain catches up. “Erm, that’s – he – woke me up.”

Gaius eyebrows arch higher.

“No!” Merlin is on the edge of saying ‘gross’ but find he can’t muster any real distaste. “He yelled. The-there was yelling and insults and _Arthur_. I’m going to find some coffee.”

Merlin tries not to blush all the way to the coffee machine in the back of the little bookstore.

The rest of the day goes better though. Bit by bit, Merlin’s able to not (over)think about Arthur and last night and the _look_ Arthur gave him and the lack of words about it this morning.

He even makes it through Professor Monmouth’s lecture awake. (A miracle really right there.) By dinner time, Merlin is back to easy grins, chatting with his friend Freya about her latest mission to feed the campus strays, the cats and the squirrels alike. “Also birds,” Freya is saying. “We can set up feeders in the courtyard. We can even have a bird bath.”

“Perfect,” Merlin leans into her shoulder. “That takes care of the cat food right there. We’ll get two birds with one… cat.”

“Merlin!”

“Kidding!” Merlin’s grin doesn’t fade. Not even when he catches sight of Arthur across the dining hall, turning abruptly away with the vaguest hint of a blush.

“Hey, Freya?” Merlin definitely doesn’t watch the way Arthur chews and swallows, not at all tracking the movement of his throat from across the room. “Do you think my knees are knobbly?”

Freya peers under the table. “I don’t know, Merlin. That would mean I paid attention to them. Who told you that, anyway?”

_Arthur paid attention to them._

“Erm, no one. I was just wondering.”

Dinner passes quickly after that, punctured with more not-glances between him and Arthur. Merlin makes himself leave for the computer lab before he could change his mind and go with a different plan, a stupid plan. Like going back to his and Arthur’s room and waiting for the prat. Or, worse, going to the fields to watch Arthur’s footie practice.

Merlin has been to one of those practices exactly once, when he didn’t know any better. As commanding a personality as he is in general, Arthur is an absolute star on the field, his strategies and calf muscles both superb. Merlin stood under a cold, cold shower for a long spell afterward.

Not that that erased the images he now had of Arthur. It makes sense that Arthur is team captain. The man knows how to lead. Not to mention, he just looks like a sun god whenever he grins. 

Or kicks. Or runs. 

Or breathes.

Merlin purposely blocks out all thoughts of Arthur by tackling the hardest of his subjects first. After figuring out the probability of quite improbable things, he goes on to read about Prolog in his into to artificial intelligence. Briefly, Merlin wonders if there is such a thing as love intelligence, or if such a thing would be an oxymoron.

He is so deep in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear Gwaine approach. Merlin jumps and makes an embarrassing squeak when the pat lands on his shoulder.

“Easy, mate. It’s just me. You know, if you were watching porn, Merlin, it would be perfectly all right by me. I’d just pull up the chair and grab us a pint, eh?”

Merlin’s mind flashes to Arthur spread under his own fingers, falling apart in the night. He blushes furiously.

“Something you want to tell me, Merlin?” Gwaine mock-leers at him, his hair flopping in front of his eyes.

Merlin chokes on a laugh. “Afraid not. What are you doing here, anyway? Don’t tell me you’re actually studying?”

“’fraid so,” Gwaine holds up a book with the words “cognitive psychology” across it in giant letters. “Maybe there’s something in here about the voodoo of how to woo.”

Merlin snorts. “Practising dark magic, Gwaine?”

“Or as I call it, _magic_ ,” Gwaine throws him a wink, saucy as ever.

Merlin grins back. It’s hard not to with Gwaine.

By midnight though, Gwaine and most of the other students have all vanished. Merlin weighs his options. He could either goof off on the internet, read ahead, or he could head to bed.

The last option tugs the hardest, exciting and scaring him by turn. It was only last night when he was presented with the exquisite torture of Arthur in the dark, moving, moving, watching him back.

*

Arthur is sprawled on his stomach, one arm hanging off the edge of his bed. Merlin closes the door quietly and shrugs out of his coat. With as little noise as he could manage, he gets ready for bed.

He’s changed into his pyjamas, and with his teeth freshly brushed, when he kicks Arthur’s floor lamp hard enough to bruise.

(Last night, he kicked his bed frame, which was what he would wager woke Arthur up.)

Merlin chances a look at Arthur’s side of the room. No movement. And there’s no noise either, aside from the faint hum of music from down the hall.

Merlin slides into his bed and pulls up the cover. He’s not sure if he’s glad or sorry to find Arthur asleep. He breathes out and turns to the wall, praying sleep comes easier tonight.

It doesn’t.

Of course it doesn’t. Merlin’s head fills with thoughts of last night, his body tingling with sense memories and warming with interest.

Especially when he hears his name from across the room. “ _Merlin._ ”

Merlin freezes, staying as still as he could, barely even breathing. 

“Merlin, are you awake?”

“No, obviously not.”

“Obviously. Well, in that case, I guess I won’t apologise.”

“Apologise for what?” Merlin’s not sure he wants to know.

“ _Not_ apologise for calling your knees knobbly. I didn’t- I mean, that’s- they’re fine.”

His _knees_. Arthur is apologising for insulting his knees. Merlin lets out a small laugh. Of all the things he thought they might talk about in the dark cover of night, he never expected this. “ _Not_ apology accepted.” He wiggles, turning and snuggling more comfortably on his side.

“You’re – you know,” Arthur continues on, apparently not yet done with the subject. “Tall and on the skinny side and your knees they – they suit you. They fit with the rest of you.”

“So… you’re calling _all_ of me knobbly?”

Arthur makes a strangled sort of sound. “ _Mer_ lin. I’m trying to apologise.”

“ _Not_ apologise.”

“Only because you’re _not_ awake.”

Merlin smiles against his pillow. He could see Arthur better now that his eyes have adjusted to the dark. Arthur looks like he might be smiling back.

They settle into a thick silence. Merlin wonders whether he should bring up last night. Ever. Arthur has, after all, dated girls during all the time that Merlin has known him. He’s dated _Gwen_ and then an Elena and then a Mithian. Not that Merlin has been keeping track. Not really.

“Merlin, do you find Gwaine attractive?”

“What?” Merlin props his head up on an elbow.

“Gwaine. Is he your type?”

Merlin thinks about it. He’s not sure he has a type. He loved Freya intensely for two weeks before they realised they fit better as friends. He dated Gwen’s brother Eli for three weeks before calling that off as well. No one else worked because he rather fancied Arthur, when the prat wasn’t being a prat (and sometimes even then). Arthur who is golden to Freya and Eli’s brunet.

“I don’t…have a type? You can’t love types, Arthur. Lust after them maybe.”

“Fine. Do you lust after Gwaine then?”

“I lust after sleep right now. And brain cells. And peppermint mocha. And good art,” Merlin’s not sure why he’s blurting all of this out right now, but he can’t seem to stop himself. It’s Arthur he’s talking to, and Arthur always leads his mouth to doing stupid things. Like drool. Or talk.

“But not Gwaine.”

Merlin laughs. “Why are you so obsessed with Gwaine tonight? Don’t tell me you’re sweet on him. I mean, the bloke’s fit, sure, and has supermodel hair. But I like my men a little less sloshed.”

“Such standards, Merlin. And no, _I’m_ not the one obsessed with him.”

Merlin tries not to think about the implications. Arthur can’t possibly be jealous. He’s _Arthur_. “What, you have a friend who’s obsessed with him?”

Arthur snorts. “Something like that.” He slides a hand under his pillow and fidgets.

Not for the first time, Merlin contemplates buying Arthur another pillow. He looks like he’s used to two. Merlin’s just not sure it would be appropriate on any level. Thankfully, he’s rescued from his own thoughts when Arthur bids him good night.

“Sweet dreams,” he blurts.

Arthur is silent for a beat. And then, “Sweet dreams, Merlin.” He sounds almost fond.

*

The next night when Merlin gets back to their room, he finds a small glow in the center propped up on a chair.

On the new night light sits one of his Post-its (blue, which means Arthur jumped to the middle of the stack just to pull a different color, the prat): _because you(r toes) are worth it_.

Merlin snorts, a loud, donkey sort of sound, full of joy. He looks over at Arthur’s bed, at Arthur’s face, slack with sleep and still too completely his type.

*

The night after that, Merlin finds his room flooded with light when he gets in.

Arthur’s sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall, his eyes closed and his legs casually spread (a most enticing parenthesis).

“Arthur?” Merlin makes himself stay near the door, the wood against his back a small measure of sanity.

Arthur’s eyes blink open, a piercing blue. And then he smiles, a slow slide that burns all Merlin’s thoughts clean. (And then dirty.) “Merlin! I’ve been waiting for you.”

Merlin’s heart thumps against his chest, too fast. “Here,” he says, and then mentally kicks himself. This isn’t a roll call after all.

Arthur nods to the space next to him. “Come here.”

Merlin looks toward his own bed, where it’s a lot safer, and then back at Arthur, who’s patiently waiting for him. “I didn’t get you an extra pillow because -because,” he finds himself stuttering and blushing. “Didn’t you read my note?”

“Your very, very pink note? How could I not?” Arthur sits up a little more, patting his bed. “Come here, Merlin.”

“Why?”

“Oie! Fine. I’ll get up, on my sprained ankle.” Arthur slides carefully forward, and Merlin notices for the first time the bandage around Arthur’s foot.

He hurries over just as Arthur moves to get up. In hindsight, their collision is inevitable. “Ow!”

“Merlin!” Arthur rubs at his forehead and glares at him.

“What? You’re the one with the hard head.”

“I’m-?!” Arthur sighs and pats the edge of his bed. “Just sit down.”

Merlin huffs but sits. His temple stings and he rubs at it, hoping a bump won’t materialize the next day. Maybe he ought to go get them both some ice.

“Do you ever sit still?” Arthur is staring at him, too close.

Merlin opens his mouth to protest what a prat Arthur is, but then Arthur’s there, a hand light on his side, sliding over to his stomach, warm, so warm, and his face so close, breathing on him. Merlin forgets his words. And sways forward. And touches his lips to Arthur’s.

Arthur touches back.

Arthur kisses like no one Merlin’s ever kissed before. He’s not overeager like Merlin’s best mate Will was back when they were kids trying to figure out how to kiss. He’s not too soft like Freya, nor too sweet like her lip gloss. He’s not even just firm and steady like Eli. 

Arthur kisses with his whole being. He rubs his nose against Merlin’s when they slant their faces for a better angle. He rubs his hand over the bottom of Merlin’s ribs and melts his stomach into a pool of want. He runs his other hand over Merlin’s back and over Merlin’s nape and up into Merlin’s hair, holding him close. All the while, Arthur mouths at Merlin’s mouth and nibbles at Merlin’s lips and licks at Merlin’s tongue so that all he hears, all he tastes, all he feels is Arthur, hard muscles and soft hair, pressed up hot against him.

“You taste,” Merlin loops his arms tighter around Arthur’s torso and says between kisses, “like coffee. I thought you didn’t drink coffee.”

Arthur licks over his tongue, three curling touches that are almost enough to make Merlin forget all the names in the world (except Arthur’s). And then Arthur pulls back. “Told you I was waiting for you.”

“To snog me?” Merlin asks dazedly, staring at the bright red wet of Arthur’s lips. He did that.

“That, too.” Arthur leans in again, pressing his lips full and warm and tingly against Merlin’s. “I wanted to thank you, for the pillow. No one’s…” Arthur trails off, staring at Merlin’s eyes, slopes of cheeks, lips like they hold the answers to the universe. “It was thoughtful of you.”

“So, not weird?”

Arthur shakes his head. “It was also nice that for once, you didn’t shake down the entire room with your giant feet when you got in last night.”

“I do not ever shake down the entire anything! Prat.” Merlin pinches him on his arse and draws a funny sort of noise from Arthur. _Oh._

Arthur sucks in a breath and then leans forward to suck lightly on the side of Merlin neck and then less lightly on an earlobe. Merlin arches, involuntary, giving Arthur more room. He wants – he wants anything, everything. His hands fist in Arthur’s shirt.

“Merlin?” Arthur’s breath fans against his throat and Merlin shudders from holding himself in, from not exploding.

“What?”

“You’re going to tear my shirt if you yank any harder.” Arthur mouths along Merlin’s neck.

“Is that a command? Yank harder?”

Arthur groans against him. “You can’t just – do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Merlin swallows hard. If it is anything like what Arthur does to him, he’s not sure how they’ll last through the night. He edges his fingers along the hem of Arthur’s red t-shirt (gods, but Arthur looks made for red) and nudges his arms up, to help him free of the shirt.

Arthur goes easily, letting Merlin undress him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Merlin licks his lips when the expanse of Arthur’s chest comes into view and his broad shoulders and the muscles of his arms and the length of his fingers and…

“Merlin?” Arthur runs his the pads of his fingers along Merlin’s cheek. And that’s just unfair.

Merlin walks his fingers down Arthur’s leg, to above the bandages. “How’s your ankle? Do you need ice? Or heat pads? Or…”

“Just you, before I spontaneously combust.”

“Is that what happened that other night? When you tossed off?”

“What do you think?” Arthur pulls him in for another string of kisses, harder now, needier. “You with your idiotic smiles and your idiotic face and your idiotic smarts.” – “That doesn’t even make sense.” – “And you’re always taking off your clothes half an inch away from my face.” – “What about you and your wet hair and your tiny bath towels and your-your hips and your leather gloves and your leather jacket!” – “And when you bend over. Your arse right in my face.” - “I do not!” – “You do. And you wiggle and you’re stupid perfect with your knobbly knees and elbows and neck and…“

Arthur trails off when Merlin groans and yanks off his own shirt and start working on the strings of Arthur’s pyjamas bottom and the button and zipper on Merlin’s jeans.

When Merlin lifts his hips to push off the pesky denim, Arthur pins him to the pile of blankets and helps him take off the rest of his clothes, touching as much skin as he could – thighs and knees and calves, even toes. Merlin stops thinking. With both of Arthur’s hands bracketing his hips now, he thinks he’s allowed incoherence. Brilliant incoherence.

Arthur kisses his belly button, chin dragging on his dick. The lightest touch of stubbles there makes Merlin’s mouth open over a moan. Arthur kisses the ticklish side of his stomach and Merlin laughs, squirming but not at all trying to leave. (Never that.) “Arthur.” He’s not sure what he’s asking. Everything probably.

Arthur strokes Merlin’s cock once, languidly, almost experimentally.

“Arthur,” Merlin arches up into his hand. He arches right off the bed, in fact. “Here, like this.”

He pushes Arthur’s cotton off his hips and strokes Arthur from head to root, from root to tip, smearing as he goes. And he slides onto Arthur’s lap, lining them up together. Arthur’s darker against his paler, a bit thicker and absolutely perfect. Merlin grinds down a little, letting their cocks kiss, wet and hard and velvety and hot.

Arthur latches his mouth onto Merlin’s lower neck and kisses over to the curve of Merlin’s shoulder. “Can I try something?”

Merlin stares down at Arthur and swallows. _Yeah_ , he thinks. “Probably,” he says.

Arthur moves his hands where they were cradled around Merlin’s hips to draw warm arcs over Merlin’s arse. His fingers come to rest between the cheeks, following the valley down. He taps the tight ring of muscles when he gets there. “Can I rim you? I’ve never done it before, but I want to give it a try.”

Merlin’s cock gives a very interested twitch. “Nggh,” he says. He kisses Arthur, licking into his mouth as he does. And then he turns and bends over, propping his elbows up on the mess of blankets and Arthur’s two pillows.

“Thank you for the night light, by the way. That was very thought- _oh_.”

Arthur’s brave in his life choices. You could tell just from the way he scores on the field. Apparently the bravery carries over to the bedroom. Arthur parts Merlin’s arse cheeks and dives right in, licking a wet stripe around and another and another until Merlin’s biting Arthur’s new pillow and white knuckling the sheet.

Arthur’s tongue feels exponentially better than fingers. Arthur’s tongue licking in makes Merlin’s whole inside contract with want. He wants to pull Arthur in. He wants to keep Arthur in. He wants to keep Arthur.

“Fuck, Merlin. Your noises. The first week we roomed together, I just wanted to tell you to shut up every hour.”

“You did.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin would have responded (in words) except Arthur pushes just the edge of his teeth above the rim and licks over and over it. He groans instead and humps forward against the blankets, just for some friction and then back, for more Arthur.

“But by god, I was wrong. You should never close your mouth. Never.”

“Drooling,” Merlin manages a word and then another. “Unattractive?”

“Lied.” Arthur slides his tongue everywhere and adds slick thumbs, adds something anyway so that it feels like there are two tongues, three, licking him open and wider open.

“Don’t come yet,” Arthur edges a hand between Merlin and blankets, yanking the blankets away so that Merlin’s helplessly humping air.

“I hate you,” Merlin says as Arthur makes a tight fist around the base of his cock.

“You love me.” Arthur kisses Merlin’s nape and down over Merlin’s spine. He kisses over the small of Merlin’s back, touching everywhere with the free hand as he goes. “I’ve figured it out. ‘Prat’ means ‘I love you.’”

Merlin sighs, shaky from being found out, from needing to come. “Is that you, Buttercup?”

Arthur laughs against his skin. “I love you, too, Wesley.” And then Arthur’s back to where he was before, driving Merlin crazy from the inside out.

“You prat,” Merlin’s arms shake from holding up. His whole body shakes from holding back. “You prat.”

Arthur lets go all of a sudden and Merlin feels bereft. He turns around and finds Arthur rummaging through his middle desk drawer.

“Before you put that on –“ Merlin hugs Arthur close to him and crashes into him in a kiss. And then he pushes Arthur back a bit and fits his lips around the head of Arthur’s cock.

“God, god, god, Merlin” Arthur arches up into him.

“Don’t come yet,” Merlin smiles up at him as he strokes him once and then makes a ring of his hand around the base of the cock.

Arthur arches back, stretching out his enticing column of neck. Merlin swallows him down, touching his lips to his hand. He does it again and again, until he hears a crack and looks up. Arthur has hit his head on the wall and doesn’t even seem to care.

“Please,” Arthur runs a thumb along Merlin’s lips, still wrapped around Arthur.

Merlin sucks once more, a parting sort of kiss and pops his mouth off. He goes straight for Arthur’s lips and settles back onto Arthur’s lap.

Arthur plays with him, spreading a big glob of lube over him and making Merlin shudder and laugh. “Arthur, really. I’m good. More than.”

He proves it too, by coating Arthur in protection and slicking him up and then seating himself down, down, down until he bottoms out, balls to balls with Arthur.

“Fuck,” he leans his forehead against Arthur’s, gentler this time, and starts to move.

Their shadows begin to move, too, against the wall. Frantic rolls of motion, fusing and fusing together.

Merlin grips onto Arthur’s back and grips onto Arthur inside him, squeezing as he gets closer. Squeezing in time to his breathing.

Arthur makes a wiggle of his shadow first, thrusting up into Merlin as much as he could as he comes. Merlin rides him out as he takes himself in hand and strokes. It doesn’t take long, not with Arthur mouthing at his neck and kissing at the underside of his chin, not with Arthur stroking him, too.

*

Merlin wakes to Arthur’s lips wrapped around his cock. Merlin makes progressively louder noises until Arthur clamps a hand over his mouth.

“Thought you never wanted me to close,” Merlin swears through how good Arthur’s curious tongue feels on his thankful cock. “My mouth,” he finishes, his muffled words hitting hot over Arthur’s palm.

Arthur answers him with a lick to his slit, as if that’s any answer at all.

But then Merlin’s past caring. Arthur’s mouth stretched around him is something magical. Merlin licks Arthur’s palm and arches up, encouraging Arthur to go faster.

The telepathic thing works this once and Arthur does, swallowing him down as much as he could and cleaning the rest with his tongue.

“Okay, I forgive you.”

Arthur splutters. “What?”

“Last night,” Merlin turns to look at Arthur plopped down on the pillow beside him. “You fell asleep. I had to clean you up.”

“Oh,” Arthur blushes, the color sitting quite nicely on his cheeks. “I’m not a night person.”

Merlin snorts. “No, you’re really not.”

“So, today. It’s a Saturday and we don’t have lectures and I’m sitting out this footie match. Do you want to go to an art museum? Or Starbucks?”

Merlin kisses him and kisses him again. “Prat,” he says sweetly, the way Wesley means his _as you wish_. “I can’t though. Not today. I promised Freya I would go shopping for bowls and things with her for her Feed the Strays project.”

“Oh,” Arthur plops his head down on Merlin’s chest, in great imitation of a cuddle. “Can I come with?”

Merlin’s grin breaks, wide and uncontained.

  
_hands are hands_   
_except your hand in mine_   
_makes a heart-shaped shadow_   
_there, there on the sidewalk_   
_here, here in my heart_   



End file.
